by Roxie Noir
Excruciating.
Then, toward the end of the day, we visit prize-winning quilts. Ruby takes her time, looking at each quilt slowly and methodically, each one hung on scaffolding, making enormous quilt-lined cubicles of the building we’re in.
I follow her. She points out the different techniques and stitches used in each one, speculating on why they won. Since I don’t know the first thing about quilts, it’s actually kind of interesting.
We walk around the corner of a quilt-cubicle, and then suddenly, we’re alone again, facing an enormous quilt that the plaque says is made entirely from neckties, gathered into a starburst pattern.
“So,” she says, looking at the quilt and not at me.
I can hear her sisters talking, maybe fifty feet away. I clear my throat and look at the quilt as well.
“Sorry if I got you dirty earlier,” I say, keeping my voice low and even, like we’re talking about nothing. “In the dairy barn.”
“I don’t mind a little dirt.”
My eyes are practically boring holes in this damn quilt, but I’m thinking of her leg against mine, the noise she made as she shifted her hips against me, and my insides feel like a furnace.
“Good,” I say, as steadily as I can. “Because I can’t guarantee it won’t happen again.”
“I’ll make sure I’m prepared,” she says, her eyes still locked on the quilt with laser-like focus. “Just in case I get even dirtier next time.”
My mouth goes dry. I swallow, and from those two sentences I can feel the blood rushing to my dick. Ruby glances at me and we make eye contact, quickly.
She blinks once, as innocent as can be.
“Isaac, get over here!” her sister Grace scolds from somewhere else in the building.
“Gabriel,” Ruby says, her voice low.
I raise both eyebrows.
“Why do you think my father didn’t write the letters?”
“Isaac, stop that or Daddy’s going to give you a spanking. I’m counting to three. One. Two.”
“Because they’re way too fucked up,” I say quickly, hoping everyone else is preoccupied with Isaac’s bad behavior to be listening to us. “I know your father has a lot of problems, but not like this. This is way, way beyond anything like that, Ruby.”
She looks back at the quilt.
“He would go pretty far to keep me in line if it made him look good,” she says.
“Not this far,” I say. “And if it got out that he’d written them? He’d be done. It wasn’t him. Believe me.”
“I want to.”
Just as I open my mouth, Grace appears around a quilt, her baby strapped to her in a sling, Isaac attached to her hand, his chin quivering.
“It’s the hand-stitching on the details here that’s really impressive,” Ruby says without missing a beat, pointing to something or other on the quilt in front of us.
“We’re going,” Grace interrupts. “Can you take him for a minute? Emma’s about to get fussy, too.”
Across the way I see her husband, talking to another man, not even looking in Grace’s direction, totally oblivious to the double-meltdown that seems imminent from his children. But Ruby swoops in, takes Isaac’s hand, and crouches down in front of him.
“Okay, buddy,” she says very, very seriously, her face scrunching into a goofy frown. “What seems to be the problem here?”
He stares at her for one second, frowns, and grins.
“Silly,” he says.
When we get back to the house that evening, the men all head to the living room while the women all go into the kitchen. Even though they’ve been on their feet all day, walking around, and half of them are sunburned, food production kicks into high gear anyway.
I don’t get to talk to Ruby again, at least not alone. I’m perfectly free to share my thoughts on which bunny was fluffiest as I stand next to her, peeling potatoes — not a man’s job in this household, but I was raised to be useful — but we can’t talk about anything real.
Like how dirty I might get her next time I see her alone.
After dinner, the hangers-on finally leave, the family retires to bed, and I walk across the back yard to the carriage house, tired, dusty and sweaty from the fair, but still wound up as fuck.
My head is swirling as I open the door and turn on the lights, open my fridge, and pour a tall glass of unsweetened iced tea, my new bedtime ritual. If this stuff has caffeine in it, I sure can’t tell.
I don’t go outside to the patio, I just lean against the counter. The downstairs of my apartment is open-plan, so it’s all just one big room: a couch pointing at a TV, a square dining table, a small kitchen with a few feet of counter space, a stove, an oven, a dishwasher, and a fridge. Stairs leading up to the second floor, which has two bedrooms and another bathroom.
As I’m standing there, lights illuminate the second and third stories of the big house. Most have curtains over them, and if I can see anything, it’s just blurry ovals, though even that feels strange and creepy.
I walk to my own front windows, one hand on the curtains to pull them closed, when someone in the big house yanks the curtains open in Ruby’s room.
Of course I know which room is hers. It’s my job, but my hand freezes, my blinds still up.
She’s standing there, both hands on the windowsill, and though she’s backlit I can tell that she’s looking at me across the yard. I look back, taking a long drink of iced tea and wishing for the millionth time that it were something a whole lot stronger.
It’s just this situation, I tell myself. If you were back in D.C., not this weirdo hyper-strict practically-Amish compound, you’d be getting laid somewhere else and you wouldn’t be worried about Ruby at all.
I don’t know that I believe myself. Ruby’s motionless for another moment, and then she pulls her curtains closed again. I let my blinds drop, finish the rest of my iced tea, and hit the shower before bed.
I jerk off thinking about her, yet again, except this time I’ve got something to really go on as I imagine her body underneath me, on top of me, her green eyes half-shut with pleasure. Her gasping and shouting my name as I lick her again and again, her thighs around my ears.
When I come into the shower drain I grunt, the sound echoing off the bathroom walls, and I lean against the tile, breathing hard.
There are a million ways to solve lust, I tell myself. That’s all this is: she’s the only cute girl anywhere around, and you’re still getting used to this celibacy thing.
You can do anything for a couple of months, Kane. You’ve done way fucking harder.
I don’t quite believe myself, and exhausted as I am, I don’t sleep well at all that night.
Morning brings another conundrum: the letters.
I need Ruby to believe me about them. She’s in danger and she deserves to know exactly how, her father be damned. I can’t blame her for thinking he’s behind them, either — for any other situation it would be a crazy, paranoid leap, but for her?
If I hadn’t read them, I might agree with her.
Today’s Sunday, so it’s the Sabbath. That means church from eight in the morning until three in the afternoon: Sunday School, which Ruby teaches and I therefore attend; Bible Study, in which we read seemingly random passages aloud and then discuss them; a sermon by the Revered Dawson; Worship Team, which involves singing; lunch break; more sermon; more Worship Team.
In short, way more church than I’m used to, even though I also went last week. It’s also way more intense than the churches I attended growing up. We didn’t take the Book of Revelation literally, for instance, but the Word of God Apostolic Covenant Church certainly does.
After church, we all go back to the house. The Sabbath is supposed to be a day of rest, but apparently that doesn’t apply to housework, so the moment we get back, the women head into the kitchen. I’m about to follow when the Senator calls my name, and my back goes ramrod straight.
“Yes, sir,” I answer.
“Could I talk to you f
or a moment?” he asks. “I think she’s pretty safe for the time being.”
I start sweating instantly.
He knows. Ray saw, someone saw, and I’m about to get fired.
I tell myself that if he knew, if he even suspected what happened yesterday I’d already have been sent packing in disgrace, never to have my real job back. Or, given how powerful Burgess is, any job within spitting distance of governmental security.
In his office, I close the door behind myself. The Senator gestures at me to sit in a chair, facing his desk, and then leans back in his own chair, looking at the huge cross on the wall to my right.
“I’ve been worrying more and more for Ruby’s soul of late,” he starts, and it’s a hell of a way to start a conversation. “Tell me, Gabriel, have you noticed anything that might worry a father?”
Well, sir, she sneaks out regularly to read books and drink whiskey.
She owns pants.
We kissed in the barn, and if someone hadn’t come in, I don’t think we would have stopped.
Instead of saying any of those things, I sigh and furrow my brow.
“To tell the truth, sir, I’m not exactly sure what I’m looking for.”
He nods thoughtfully, still looking at the cross.
“I suppose I’m asking for your thoughts on a spiritual level. Whether you’ve noticed anything about my daughter to make you think she might not be pure of heart. If she’s acted sly or suspicious in any way, if she seems secretive, that sort of thing,” he says, steepling his fingers together.
I could just tell him. He’s got the keys to my future in his hands, and it’s what he wants. I could throw Ruby under the bus, get my job back, and get laid plenty when I’m back in D.C. after a few more months.
It’d be a whole lot easier, and I’d be a whole lot less likely to find myself in trouble.
“Well, sir…” I say, letting my words fall from my mouth slowly. “There was something.”
He looks over at me, and suddenly I realize he’s got Ruby’s eyes. Or maybe she has his. I guess I know where she gets that piercing, commanding stare from.
“Yes?” he asks, his voice quiet and dangerous.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” I say, leaning forward.
I’m not much of an actor, but I’m really swinging for the fences right now.
“The other day, we were speaking, and when she went in her pocket for something, a white stone fell out.”
Ruby, you better be right about this or I’ll seem like an idiot.
The Senator frowns.
“Go on.”
I shrug.
“It was fairly small, kind of blocky, pointy on top, and maybe a milky, translucent color? The only reason I remember it at all is that she seemed pretty flustered that I saw it. Picked it up right away, shoved it into her pocket, turned bright red. But it just looked like a rock to me,” I say, shrugging.
His eyes are just about burning holes through me now. I think that means it’s working.
“Is that all?” he asks, his voice quiet.
I shake my head and smile, like I’m apologizing.
“Sorry, sir,” I say. “Your daughter’s remarkably well-behaved.”
He looks at the cross again.
“I’m not so sure about that,” he says, his voice darker. “Gabriel, I’m going to need to ask more from you. From now on—”
There’s a knock on his office door, and he stops. The door opens slightly, and Mrs. Burgess pokes her head through.
“Darling, I’m so sorry,” she says. “But the Reverend’s downstairs. He said he stopped by to give you something?”
He frowns, then smooths the front of his shirt.
“Did he say what?”
“He didn’t.”
The Senator thinks for a moment, then nods his head once.
“I think I know what this is,” he says. “I’m so sorry, son, if you’ll excuse me for just a moment.”
The Senator and Mrs. Burgess leave me alone in the office, the door still open.
As I hear them going downstairs, I have an idea.
It’s a dangerous idea, and I definitely shouldn’t do it. I think I might already be on thin ice.
On the other hand, it can’t be a worse idea than making out with Ruby in public.
Quietly, I stand. I walk to the desk, crouch behind it, and pull on a drawer. Ruby said that he kept them here, somewhere, and this is the best way I can think of to get her to believe me — just show her.
I pull open drawer after drawer, but there are no letters. I hear loud male voices downstairs and hold my breath, still pulling them open.
The Senator invites the Reverend to stay for dinner. The Reverend says he can’t stay, he’s got to get going, and the front door opens.
I pull on another drawer and there’s the stack of letters, finally. I grab the top few, fold them in half, shove them in my pocket, and shut the drawer. The Senator walks in just as I sit in the chair again, hands behind my head like I’ve been perfectly still and relaxed this whole time.
“My apologies,” he says. “Where were we?”
Chapter Seventeen
Ruby
Watching Gabriel ascend the stairs after my father, my heart just about stops. I know he’s about to be quizzed on my behaviors again, and it gives me a raw, ugly, vulnerable feeling in the pit of my stomach.
It doesn’t matter that, at this point, Gabriel’s got as many secrets from my father as I do. He’s not me. If he has an indiscretion, it doesn’t reflect poorly on my father the way mine do.
Besides, Gabriel’s a man, and in my father’s reasoning, men aren’t to blame when they give in to temptation. Women are to blame for tempting them in the first place, which is why I wear ugly sacks, pantyhose, and extra-large t-shirts everywhere I go.
My father’s got money and power. I don’t know why exactly Gabriel is on leave from the Secret Service or how that led to him being here, but I know my father’s influence is the ticket to him getting his old life back.
All I’ve got, to put it very bluntly, is a vagina, and I’m pretty sure someone who looks like Gabriel can find a willing one of those just about anywhere he looks.
I want to trust him. My gut says to trust him. But I don’t know if that’s smart.
They’re up there for twenty minutes. I take out my frustrations on bread dough, kneading it until my arms ache and my face is red from exertion. My little sister Joy looks at me funny, but she doesn’t say anything. No one else seems to notice.
I shove the bread dough into three separate bread pans, open the hot oven, and shove them in. Just as I’m putting the last loaf in, there’s a voice behind me.
“Need help?” Gabriel asks.
I jump, stand too fast, and my left forearm just above the oven mitt touches red-hot metal.
I yelp in surprise and pain, and everyone in the kitchen turns and looks at me.
“Are you okay?” Joy asks, standing at the sink, the water running.
I just look at the shiny, burned patch of skin, still surprised.
“I think so?”
“You need to run cool water on that,” Gabriel says, and gently takes my other arm. He pulls me away from the oven and closes the door. As I walk to the sink, Joy backing away, it finally starts to hurt.
I’d almost forgotten how bad burns hurt, and I bite my lip, shaking the oven mitt off my hand. Gabriel’s still got a hand on my shoulder as he adjusts the water temperature, checks it, and I plunge my forearm under.
I exhale with instant relief. Gabriel takes his hand from my shoulder, and my mom and other sister go back to what they were doing. Joy’s still standing there, eyes wide, like she’s not sure what to do.
“I’m so sorry,” Gabriel says, his voice low. “I didn’t mean to surprise you like that, I thought you heard me.”
I shake my head, turning my forearm back and forth under the water.
“Just jumpy,” I say, and glance at him, even though Joy’s watching.
I think Gabriel knows why I’m jumpy, but neither of us says anything. After a few minutes, he grabs a kitchen towel and runs it under the cool water, then sits me down at the kitchen table, the damp towel on my burn.
My mother glances over, and maybe I’m imagining things, but I think she looks suspicious. I straighten my back and make sure I’m not within a foot of touching Gabriel.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs again. “I really didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“It was just clumsiness,” I say, glancing up at his face. “Not your fault. You didn’t push me into the oven, you know.”
“But I can still apologize, right?” he asks. There might be a hint of a smile around his eyes, or I might be imagining it.
“Well, have you got something to apologize for?” I ask.
I don’t think we’re talking about the accidental burn any longer.
I glance over at my mother and sisters, but my mother is scolding Pearl for making lumpy gravy, and Joy has the water in the kitchen sink running as she stares out the window, daydreaming.
“Only for scaring you,” he says, the smile around his eyes deepening, his voice lowering even further. “Like you just said, I didn’t actually do anything.”
Relief washes through me. He didn’t tell my father what I’ve been up to, even though it probably would have been good for him.
“If you didn’t do anything, don’t apologize,” I say.
“I did get you something,” he says.
I glance over. They’re still scolding, sulking, and daydreaming.
“You did?”
Gabriel just nods.
“That feel any better?” he asks, his voice louder now. I’ve got a feeling he’s not just asking about the burn.
“I think I’ll be okay,” I say.
“Ruby,” my father says, his voice carrying down the table. From the way he says my name, I can tell it’s not the first time he’s tried to get my attention, but I’ve been spacing out for the past few minutes.
I swallow green beans and smile.
“Yes, father?”
